The Voice Inside My Head
by Randomnormality
Summary: My name is Aria Moore. 'And I'm Dean Winchester'. Okay, so I used to be normal. 'At least one of us is.' Until this damn voice showed up. 'Hey! I didn't ask for this.' Now I have to find a way to get rid of it. ...What happens when the psyche of Dean Winchester shows up in the mind of a normal, everyday woman? Crack-fic canon season 5, AU after. Full Summary inside
1. Chapter 1

**The Voice Inside My Head**

**Summary:**

My name is Aria Moore.

_And I'm Dean Winchester._

I'm a normal, twenty-six year old woman who runs the local tattoo parlor in my town.

_I'm not normal. In fact, I hunt things most people have nightmares of, and have done it my entire life._

Okay, so I _used_ to be normal.

_At least one of us is._

Until this damn voice showed up.

_Hey! I didn't ask for this._

Now, I have to find a way to get rid of it.

_It? Hey, I'm a real guy._

Says the voice in my head. Seriously, could this day get any worse?

_It's actually a garuntee that it's about to get worse._

Right. The demons and shit.

_That...I'm actually comfortable with._

Speak for yourself.

_I just did._

**-/-**

**Can Aria get Dean Winchester's voice out of her head? Why is he even there to begin with? What craziness will occur when a normal woman ends up with a man in her head, who happens to fight occult creatures? Can they stop arguing for one moment?**

**Author's Note: Alright...so this is a bit of a crack fic. No idea. Idea just popped in my head and the rabid plot bunnies decided to take off with it. I do know that this is canon up to season 5 and a complete AU after Swan Song. This is meant to be mostly amusing, all kinds of crazy and of course filled with the occasional angst and problematic demons. If you like it, review. If you don't like it, still review and let me know. Seriously, not sure how this is going to go, and if I get enough reviews/hits, I will continue, but I'm far too invested in my Walkers, Demons, Angels Oh My story.**

* * *

**Chapter One  
**_Normal Left The Building_

* * *

Pulling into the parking lot of _Molly's_, I kill the engine to my all-black Ducati, my foot sliding the kickstand out. Climbing off, I slip the helmet off, running a hand through the teal-streaked black fringe brushing over my eyes. Shoving my keys and MP3 player back into the pocket of my leather riding jacket, my boot-clad feet clump with each step I take across the parking lot. Grinning widely at the familiar bouncer standing in front of the door checking ID's, I ignore the line of people.

"Damn girl! Where the hell have you been?" Liam greets, his broad, intimidating stature shattering at the large grin on his face.

Slapping my the tips of my fingers against his open palm, I shrug a lazy shoulder, "Meh. I've been busy. Fuckin' tourists always wanting a tattoo in memory of the vacation they're never gonna remember."

Liam lets out a bark of laughter, "How many did ya' do this week?"

"Forty-seven tourists, four regulars and I have two three-session pieces to have to sketch out for this next week," I sigh, running my fingers through my bangs once again, "Are the others in?"

"Yeah. They should be at your usual table."

Clapping Liam on the shoulder, I step inside the homely Irish-inspired pub. _Molly's_ is one of the best places to go to relax. Unlike most bars or clubs in the tourist trap I call my hometown, _Molly's_ is warm, inviting and the music is never unbearably loud. Hearing 'The Dirty Glass' by Dropkick Murphys, I weave around small round tables, nodding and waving at some familiar faces as I make my way to the bar.

"Aria! How's it goin'?" Molly, the thirty-five year old owner and bartender of the pub, greets with a warm, bright smile.

"It will be better when you slide me my usual," I retort cheekily, earning a huff of laughter from the older woman.

Quickly downing the shot of Jameson as she turns to mix my Jack the Ripper, I offer her a broad grin as I slide the empty shot glass over to her and take the red drink from her. Telling her to put it on my tab, I weave around tables as I make my way toward the three tables shoved together. Round of greetings sound as I plop down next to my ginger-haired, green-eyed sister, Katrina. It's hard for most to believe we are related by blood; my sister standing an entire four inches taller than my self and a slender body that most models would kill for.

"Hiya, Kat," I greet before taking a sip of my drink.

"Hello, Aria," Katrina responds with a warm grin. "I was starting to wonder if I would have had to get the guys to drag you out of your apartment."

I snort, raising my chin as I give the two guys in question, Ryan and Jake, a pointed look, "They'd have to get through the front door first."

"I would have given them the spare key."

"You would," I retort mockingly, earning a round of laughs, most likely at my expense. "So, how has your week been?"

Stories soon take shape. Ryan and Jake run a nearby garage, Ryan working mechanics while Jake runs the detailing. Katrina, my smart-as-hell sister, works as a psychiatrist; and I'm not talking about the type to shove pills down the patients' mouths. She's always been an advocate about getting down to the bottom of people's problems instead of putting them in a drug-induced coma. It's one reason I've always carried a high respect for my sister.

Standing up after three rounds and an hour later, announcing my need for the bathroom, I walk off toward the back area of the pub. Finishing up my business, I weave around a pair of patrons who seem to be quite the advocates for PDA. A grunt and a hiss leaves my lips as I slam into another body, a sharp tingle running up my arm. The sound of shattering glass snaps me out the dazed moment as a round of curses meet my ears and I glance up into the round face of a woman. Her brown eyes seem far too coy and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

"Oh...are you alright?"

Shaking my head, I offer the concerned woman a weak smile, "I'm fine."

"You're bleeding," she points out.

Glancing down at my hand, my brow crinkles as I stare at the small cut on the back of my hand, "Huh? Well, I'm accident prone, so it's no problem. Just...watch where you're going. Not everyone is as nice as me."

Walking around the woman, I fight back the shiver as I catch a whispered, "You don't say?"

Pausing by the table, I offer everyone a small grin, "Hey. I'm gonna head out. I have an early morning."

Ignoring the groans of dismay, I drop a kiss on my sister's cheek and gather my jacket. Paying off my tab, I say my round of goodnights and slip out of the bar. Inhaling deeply, I clap Liam on the shoulder, telling him I'd see him next weekend, before heading to my bike. Sliding the helmet over my head, I double check my awareness and noting that I am not impared in anyway, I straddle the bike and slam my foot down on the kickstart. Leaning forward, I speed down the streets, wanting nothing more than to be home and in my bed. Unfortunately, my mind keeps flashing back to the strange woman. I'd like to think I'm a good judge of character, I know when people are good and when people are bad, and that woman just rubbed me the wrong way. Granted, it isn't my place to judge people on what they do with their lives, I just can't seem to shake the odd feeling that something is-

My thoughts cut off as I catch a glimpse of bright headlights from my left. Cursing the stupid ass running a red light, I force the bike to go faster, instinctively turning the bike in the opposite direction. Suddenly becoming aware of the tail-lights directly in front of me, my fingers squeeze the break, stopping the bike inches from the rear bumper. Unfortunately, stopping the bike short of a crash does nothing to stop my body from moving fifty-five miles per hour. Closing my eyes, I groan as shattered glass fills my ears for the second time tonight. Shouts of worry and surprise fills the air and my thoughts grow sluggish as my body is hoisted off the back of the car. Feeling myself being laid out on the asphalt, my hand shakes as I grasp the hand threatening to tug off my helmet.

"N-no," I gasp out, feeling my words start to slur as my vision begins to waver, "Helmet stays on. Case o'head injury."

Words of encouragement for me to stay awake slowly fades and I welcome the darkness clouding my vision.

* * *

_My heart races, my throat tightening as I fight back the screams begging for release. The pain is endless, searing and hot. So fucking hot. Reflexive tears burn along the edges of my eyes as I fight the urge to give in, my body broken and my mind weary. I just want to go home. I don't want this anymore._

_But I can't give in. I can't sink to their level. I won't become one of them._

_Blinking back the tears, I stare into the milk-white eyes glowing impossibly bright. White is supposed to be a 'pure' color, but I feel nothing but fear, disgust and hate. Hearing the strange voice coo an offering, I lick my chapped lips and crack a cocky grin._

_"You can go fuck yourself," I grunt out, spitting the blood from my mouth and watching with mild pleasure as it hits this person's cheek._

_A jagged blade pierces my gut and as my intestines spill from my body I can't keep back the scream of agony._

"Aria!"

I'm still screaming. Clamping my lips shut, I swallow thickly and cringe at the sandpaper feeling along the edges of my throat. Shuddering at the nightmare, I give my sister a thankful look as she hands me a cup of water. Wincing as the ice-cold water runs down my torn throat, I shudder again.

"What happened?" I croak out.

"You were in an accident. A witness said you swerved to miss someone running a red light and ended up going headfirst through the back window of another car. Doctor said you were lucky you were smart enough to leave you helmet on after the initial accident."

Thank God my sister is a doctor. I'm not sure I can handle some kind of emotional display.

_Yeah, no kidding._

Blinking, I glance up at my sister and quickly look around the room. Weird. I thought I heard something.

_Where the hell am I?_

I place a hand to my head. What the hell? I know people suffer problems after severe head trauma, but hearing voices?

_You think you have it bad? I'd like to know how I got stuck in the head of some random woman._

Jesus Christ. This isn't happening.

_You and me both, sister._

Shut up.

_Yeah? What are you gonna do? Punch yourself?_

A drillbit to the temple sounds more pleasant.

_Damn. And I thought I need help._

Shut up!

_Hey. I don't like this either._

Get out of my head.

_I tried. Believe me, I've tried._

"Aria?"

Just stop. Leave me alone.

_Are you not listening? I don't want to be in your head any more than you want me here._

"Aria?"

This can't be happening. This can't be happening.

_I really wish I could tell you different._

"Shut up!"

"Aria!"

Blinking at the hands cupping my cheeks, I swallow thickly, my fingers growing lax on my hair. Staring into the worried green eyes of my sister, I shake my head. No. I'm not crazy. I mean, I'm weird, but not crazy.

_Aren't we all crazy?_

Squeezing my eyes shut, I shake my head again, "K-Kat...something's wrong with me."

_There's nothing __**wrong**__ with you. You're perfectly normal._

That doesn't explain the voice in my head.

_Look. How about this? I'll stay quiet, let you calm down, and when we don't have an audience, I'll try to explain this...if I can._

Explain?

_Trust me._

Says the voice in my head.

_I'm not just a voice. I happen to be a real person. I...just don't know __**exactly**__ what happened._

Fine. I inhale deeply, trying to calm down the tightened nerves along my body. Who are you anyway? If you're not a voice in my head.

_My name's Dean Winchester. And you?_

Aria Moore.

_Well, I wish we could've met on better terms._

"Aria? What's wrong?"

Shaking my head, I glance up at Katrina and give her a weakened smile, "I'm fine. H-how much longer do I have to stay?"

"They'll probably want to keep you over night for observation."

Just great. I fucking hate hospitals.

_Now that is something we have in common._

Inhaling deeply, I force myself to lay back. Maybe this won't be so bad. Hopefully this 'Dean Winchester' isn't going to screw up my life.

_Hey! I'll have you know I'm friggin' awesome._

I swallow back the reflexive giggle. Yeah. Maybe it won't be so bad after all. Hearing the door open, I fight back the urge to shift in discomfort at the sight of the pretty nurse coming in to check my vitals.

_Well, hellloooo Nurse._

Alright. I lied. This is going to suck.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Voice Inside My Head**

**Summary:**

My name is Aria Moore.

_And I'm Dean Winchester._

I'm a normal, twenty-six year old woman who runs the local tattoo parlor in my town.

_I'm not normal. In fact, I hunt things most people have nightmares of, and have done it my entire life._

Okay, so I _used_ to be normal.

_At least one of us is._

Until this damn voice showed up.

_Hey! I didn't ask for this._

Now, I have to find a way to get rid of it.

_It? Hey, I'm a real guy._

Says the voice in my head. Seriously, could this day get any worse?

_It's actually a garuntee that it's about to get worse._

Right. The demons and shit.

_That...I'm actually comfortable with._

Speak for yourself.

_I just did._

**-/-**

**Can Aria get Dean Winchester's voice out of her head? Why is he even there to begin with? What craziness will occur when a normal woman ends up with a man in her head, who happens to fight occult creatures? Can they stop arguing for one moment?**

**Author's Note: Alright...so this is a bit of a crack fic. No idea. Idea just popped in my head and the rabid plot bunnies decided to take off with it. I do know that this is canon up to season 5 and a complete AU after Swan Song. This is meant to be mostly amusing, all kinds of crazy and of course filled with the occasional angst and problematic demons. If you like it, review. If you don't like it, still review and let me know. Seriously, not sure how this is going to go, and if I get enough reviews/hits, I will continue, but I'm far too invested in my Walkers, Demons, Angels Oh My story.**

* * *

**Chapter Two  
**_Awkward Moments_

* * *

Dean is a Hunter. Not like Bambi, or little furry critters. He Hunts things like Ghosts and Witches and just...nightmares. How the hell am I supposed to find a man that lives on the road? What do I even say? 'Oh hey, by the way, I currently have Dean Winchester's psyche trapped in my head.'

_Are you always cynical?_

Depends, have you ever had someone in your head? Because honestly, it's creepy.

_Actually...this is a new one for me._

Sighing, I look up from the papers splayed out on the small bed-table, my fingers sketching out the quick, loopy signature. Effectively signing myself out of the hospital, I quickly pull on the change of clothes Kat brought me before making my way out of the room. Silently standing in the empty elevator as it descends the many levels, my fingers tap against the side of my thighs. How am I going to explain this? The guys will probably think I'm joking. Kat will probably go into therapist mode on me, and quite frankly, I have enough people in my head.

_Who are these people you think about? Family?_

I bite down on the inside of my cheek as the doors slide open and I find myself on the first level. Pushing through the revolving doors, I glance around briefly before digging out my cell phone.

**_"J&R Customs. This is Jake."_**

"Where'd you put the fucking car?" I snap.

**_"Oh, well, hello to you too, Princess Hot-Stuff."_**

"Jake, I'm not in the mood. I've been stuck in the hospital for the past three days with no one other than myself to talk to. Now where the hell did you put the car?"

_Hey! I'm awesome company!_

Shut up!

_**"Section 4-C. Can't miss it. Glad to hear you back to normal. Ryan just finished getting that ride of yours back to mint condition, and I'm going back over the detailing for ya."**_

Sighing, I run my fingers through my hair, bobbing my head, "Alright. Sorry, sweetheart."

_**"When you feel up to it, make sure you swing by Molly's. The gang are all worried about ya'."**_

"Alright. Later."

Hanging up, I dig around the pockets of my jacket and find the keys Kat had left for me. Grinning at the sight of the all-black, 1970 Chevy _Chevelle_, my hand delicately runs across the sleek hood along the driver's side door.

_Damn, ain't she just a cherry. Who knew a chick would have such fine taste._

Very funny, I snort inwardly as I unlock the door and slide inside.

_Reminds me of my own Baby. 1967 Impala. I know my Baby inside and out, can build her back from scratch. Hell, I've done it before._

Yeah, well, I don't know much about cars. As the car comes to life with a heavy guttural growl from the engine, I sigh.

_Where did you get such a beautiful car?_

My thoughts flick to the memory of Uncle David. Spending summer vacations at his cabin in Berkshire, thankful to get away from the hustle and bustle of Boston. Spending winter break curled up on a couch in front of the burning fireplace, a mug of homemade hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and sharing stories with Kat. Standing in the corner of the hospital room, wanting nothing more than to disappear from the world as I watch the sick man turn for the worse.

_I'm sorry for your loss._

Swallowing thickly, I shake my head, brushing back the memories. It was hard, losing Uncle David. He made it easier for Kat and I to grow together, despite the stark differences in our personalities. I had been young when my mother passed away. It wasn't until I was a teenager that my father remarried, bringing Katrina into my life. I couldn't believe it at first. That my father, after my mother passed, had laid with another woman, even impregnated her. I had wanted to resent Katrina, but I found I couldn't for one reason. I envied Katrina. She didn't live in her mother's shadow. She didn't play a constant reminder to a husband that lost his wife.

_I know the feeling._

Really?

_Yeah. It's a long story, but to sum it up, I was my Dad's perfect soldier and Sammy was the golden-child. My job, all my life, is to protect Sammy._

Yeah, well, I'm a tattoo artist where my sister is a successful psychiatrist. I've never pleased my father and I stopped trying a long time ago.

_I guess we aren't so different after all._

Perhaps not, I snort inwardly as I weave around traffic.

_Oh! I love this song! Turn it up!_

Turning up 'Lights' by Journey, I hum softly as the voice in my head begins to sing the lyrics. Smiling, I wonder, not for the first time, if this isn't as bad as I thought it would be. Sure, it's kind of weird to have a voice in my head, but from what Dean tells me, it could have been worse. Parking along the sidewalk outside of the loft apartment, I sigh tiredly at the sight of it. Thank God!

_God has left the building, sister._

I meant it figuratively, not literally, I muse inwardly as I climb out of the car. Hearing the husky chuckle ring from the back of my mind, I shake my head, giving a mild-mannered smile to Old Lady McCreedy, who pauses on the front stoop with her yelping ankle-biter of a dog, to pass formalities of 'Glad you are alright' while simultaneously mocking 'the dangers of driving a motorcycle'. I act civil toward the senile old bat, but the consistent fantasy of punt-kicking her annoying rodent of a dog over a fence runs through my mind as I smile falsely and nod.

_I hate dogs._

No shit? I'm not fond of domesticated animals either.

_Sammy would always bitch fit about dogs. Could never keep one with the family business and all that._

I let out a small giggle, shaking my head at McCreedy before waving her off. Up the elevator, I sigh as I pull apart the safety gate and step into the open loft apartment. The loft isn't much to look at, but I only ever come here to sleep, shower and change clothes. I don't have a television, but instead a couple of bookshelves stuffed to the brim with books with two arm chairs to make up the living room. Half of the living room had been shaped into a personal art studio, the slanted art desk poised against a wall, the overhead light attached to it turned off.

_Wow. You weren't kidding when you said you were an artist._

No. No joke on that account.

_Look, I want to figure out a way to get both of us back to normal, but there is something you're gonna need before we even start._

And what could that be? A rosary? A cross? Crucifix?

_Walk over to the desk of yours. I'll show you._

As I turn on the overhead light, I sit down in front of the desk and for a moment nothing happens. Not even a picture projected into my own head. A soft tingle travels along my arm before my fingers begin to act on their own, curling around a pencil. Fighting the urge to restrain the moving limb, Dean's husky voice gently calling for me to relax, and I watch with bated breath as the image begins to form. A five-pointed star, _A Pentagram_, etched within the confines of an all-black emblazoned sun. It is a bit dodgy, the drawing itself, and Dean mutters about not having Sammy's artistic eye, but I admit, it's a pretty awesome design.

_You need this tattooed somewhere on your body. This acts as protection against any demons trying to possess your body, and I can tell you, it's not a fun ride. You might want to put it somewhere they can't see._

Like my left ass cheek?

A husky laugh echoes through my head, _If that's how you get your rocks off._

I shake my head, mentally docking a reminder to get the symbol tattooed tomorrow. Standing up from the desk, I saunter off to the bedroom to get ready to head out to _Molly's_. Pulling open the closet doors, I glance along the OCD-driven organization of my clothes. Fingering along the hangers of the shirts, I love over the several dark-hued color shirts, the slogan t-shirts and the band t-shirts.

_This one!_

I pause, hearing the echoing laughter in the back of my head as I pull out the dark-grey t-shirt. Green letters along the front of the shirt read _"That's what." -She_.

_Where did you find this? That's awesome!_

I give a mental shrug, not quite remembering. I have a habit of buying random slogan t-shirts all for a laugh. Some of them are gag gifts from Kat and the guys. Tossing it to the bed, I pull out a random pair of dark-blue skinny jeans, rips and holes along the pant legs patched up with black fishnet fabric. Holding them up, I nod mutely. I suppose they'll do for tonight.

_Damn, girl. How tiny are you?_

I like to think of myself as fun-sized.

_Fun-sized._ The laughter in the back of my head causes me to snort. Stripping off my clothes, a sudden tremor runs along my body. Curious, I muse as I glance down at the simple, dark purple bra and panty set I am wearing. I don't recall a draft being in the apartment. Shrugging off the shiver, I slip on the jeans, once against shuddering as my hands run along my thighs and hips, my shaking fingers fastening the zipper and button. It isn't until I pull my t-shirt on over my head, my hands gently brushing over the swells of my breasts that I tense up.

Dean Winchester!

_Sorry! I can't help myself. I mean, they're right here._

A hot flush bleeds across my cheeks as my hands give an experimental squeeze to my breasts for emphasis of the statement.

Stop it!

_Alright. Alright. Jesus. Like you wouldn't grope me if the positions were reversed._

__I don't even know what you look like.

_Hey. I'll have you know, I'm adorable._

Just as adorable as the yelping ankle-biter owned by McCreedy.

_I resent that! Besides, you'd **have** to grope me at some point. A man's gotta take a piss._

The palm of my hand smacks into my forehead. Good Lord if this isn't awkward. Last thing I need is some freaky second-personality groping my body.

_Hey. At some point you're gonna have to shower._

Can you not play pervy personality for future reference?

_I will do my best, but...I **am** a guy._

I'm pretty sure this is some form of sexual harassment.

_Yeah? What are you gonna say? 'Please. Someone help. I can't get my split personality to stop touching me!'_

My body shifts awkwardly. Do I really have to deal with this? It's like this is all a joke.

_Aww...come on. You can't tell me a woman like you has never...**helped** herself._

My cheeks burn hot. This is so not fair.

_Wait...don't tell me. Are you...ya know?_

A virgin?

_Yeah._

I swallow thickly, my shoulders slumping at the silent admission.

_There's no way. A girl like you? Have you ever dated anyone?_

No. Never.

_Why the hell not? Please tell me this isn't a 'I haven't had the occasion' answer._

Have you even seen the body you're inhabiting? I'm not exactly supermodel material. I'm tiny, petite as it were. I am, for a lack of a better word or term, a freak. People, guys in general, don't go for girls like me.

_Go stand in front of the mirror._

Why?

_Do it before I make you._

Sighing, I move to stand in front of the full-body mirror. Spreading my arms out in a 'Well? This is me.' gesture, I swallow when my body takes a step closer to the mirror.

_I like the streaks. Teal brings out your eyes. I don't think I've ever seen such a shade of grey before. _ I bite down on my bottom lip, flushing slightly, _You are rather tiny, but...it's more...compact. Even if you don't think highly of your looks, you wear confidence like a second layer. That's a rather attractive quality. You kind of look like you are either breakable, or able to break someone if need be. You **are** beautiful, even if it is an unconventional manner._

__Do you say this to all women?

_As long as they're human? I think **all** women are beautiful in some way._

You're a Man-Whore aren't you?

_My brother would tell you 'yes'. I can't help it. I bet you have a gorgeous smile. _The playful, flirtatious tone causes a smile to pull across my lips, _Ah, see. A dimpled grin. Can I call you Dimples?_

Good Lord, are you going to tease me all night?

_No. Well, maybe. Hey, if I have to be stuck in your head, I'd rather know I'm at least **saving** someone. Even if it is from their own lack of self-worth._

Speaking from experience?

_You have no idea. Seriously though, like I said in the hospital. There's nothing **wrong** with you. Embrace it. Being normal is overrated anyway._

Smiling again, I nod my head, inwardly thanking the voice in my head. Kicking on a pair of comfortable, one-inch heeled ankle boots, I grab my keys and wallet before heading toward the elevator.

Man, could I use a drink.

_You said it, sister!_

Giggling at the enthusiastic shout, I shake my head as I slide into the _Chevelle_.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Alright, that's it for this chapter. I hope you guys enjoyed it. Leave a review, let me know what you think. I know Dean seems a little perverted, but come on. You can't really expect a man to get trapped in a woman's body and not try to cop a feel every once in awhile. Aria isn't exactly confident about relationships, because she's the type of independent person that is cast out of the social spectrum of schools and such, and by the time she opened up the tattoo shop and started her own business, she was already in her mid-twenties and grown into her independence. Doesn't stop her from feeling insecure at times, as everyone can understand. I figured Dean, while attracted to beautiful women, doesn't really see many women as being _ugly_.

_winterfellsfallen: Thanks luv! I'm glad you enjoyed the inner-monologue arguments. I assure you, they will happen frequently!_

_Guest: Thank you for reviewing. Hope you come back and read again._

_okgurl87: I'm glad I could make you laugh._

Leave reviews! I'd really like to know what you guys think. Also, I promise, after Aria gets the protection tattoo, her and Dean are going to try and get to the bottom of what has happened.

Until Next Time!


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